Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
"Break right..."
"...six at two o'clock, in the air." Just in case you were wondering about the header graphic, it's the face of a radar warning receiver based loosely on my memory of the AN/ALR-46. The "6" is the SA-6, which looks like this when it's about to kill you.
The little circle around the 6 means it has missile guidance, meaning it's about to kill you. The little diamond around the circle lets the poor schmuck listen to the sound of death, which kinda sounds like beep beeep beeeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
The "2" is just a SA-2.
Anyway, I thought the header needed something, but I'm not sure this is it. Kinda esoteric, don'tcha think?
The little circle around the 6 means it has missile guidance, meaning it's about to kill you. The little diamond around the circle lets the poor schmuck listen to the sound of death, which kinda sounds like beep beeep beeeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
The "2" is just a SA-2.
Anyway, I thought the header needed something, but I'm not sure this is it. Kinda esoteric, don'tcha think?
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
I'm officially 55.5% evil
But after next semester, I'll be 66.6% evil, and you can't get any more evil than that. ;)
Wow, this whole law school thing doesn't get any easier. You would think after 2.5 years, I would have cracked the code by now, but every semester it's the same. I think I allow myself enough time to study, so much so that I let myself screw around posting blog posts or doing the [shudder] Facebook thing (I did it just to take the Heroes quiz. Really!). Then on the day of the exam, I do some CALI exercises (computer-aided law instruction) and I find out I really don't know what I should know. I invariably spend a full day preparing an outline and tabbing the snot out of it until it looks like it's exploding with technicolor post-its, only to find out that it was too cumbersome to use when scrambling to answer the questions (and yes, even on a four-hour exam, you scramble the whole four hours). At the end of it all, I spend a month running through exam questions in my head, answering them in my sleep (usually with different, better answers than what I gave on the exam), growing ever more impatient and pessimistic. I vow that next semester will be different; that I'll review each week and hone my outline to a finely crafted masterpiece of legal precision, and that come test time, I'll walk out of the exam without an iota of doubt as to my superior performance. These are the fantasies of a law student.
But for now, I'm actually doing pretty good with the post-test regret. Christmas is almost here, the kids are excited, and I am quickly trading the "damn, I shoulda..." for "damn, I'm glad it's over." My shopping is almost done, work is, well, work, and I'm looking forward to reading a book for fun (God and Gold: Britain, America and the Making of the Modern World, by Walter Mead), cleaning out the basement and maybe starting on the build-out of my office. These are the fantasies of a 40-something, married father of two law student on Christmas break.
Wow, this whole law school thing doesn't get any easier. You would think after 2.5 years, I would have cracked the code by now, but every semester it's the same. I think I allow myself enough time to study, so much so that I let myself screw around posting blog posts or doing the [shudder] Facebook thing (I did it just to take the Heroes quiz. Really!). Then on the day of the exam, I do some CALI exercises (computer-aided law instruction) and I find out I really don't know what I should know. I invariably spend a full day preparing an outline and tabbing the snot out of it until it looks like it's exploding with technicolor post-its, only to find out that it was too cumbersome to use when scrambling to answer the questions (and yes, even on a four-hour exam, you scramble the whole four hours). At the end of it all, I spend a month running through exam questions in my head, answering them in my sleep (usually with different, better answers than what I gave on the exam), growing ever more impatient and pessimistic. I vow that next semester will be different; that I'll review each week and hone my outline to a finely crafted masterpiece of legal precision, and that come test time, I'll walk out of the exam without an iota of doubt as to my superior performance. These are the fantasies of a law student.
But for now, I'm actually doing pretty good with the post-test regret. Christmas is almost here, the kids are excited, and I am quickly trading the "damn, I shoulda..." for "damn, I'm glad it's over." My shopping is almost done, work is, well, work, and I'm looking forward to reading a book for fun (God and Gold: Britain, America and the Making of the Modern World, by Walter Mead), cleaning out the basement and maybe starting on the build-out of my office. These are the fantasies of a 40-something, married father of two law student on Christmas break.
Friday, December 7, 2007
You know what I hate?
That long walk from the law school to the parking garage. In December. Right after taking a final. And it's dark. And cold. You're all alone with your thoughts, that is until someone asks you what you got on question such & such. That's when that nagging doubt becomes full-blown regret.
Yeah... I hate that.
Yeah... I hate that.
Friday, November 23, 2007
ONOZ! OMG!
(click for the full effect)
Mankind 'shortening universe life.'
This 'story' annoys the crap out of me. First, there's the ridiculous supposition that somehow we're shortening the life of the universe. C'mon! It's bad enough people slurp up global warming kool-aid, but now our study of the cosmos has reduced the probability of survival of the universe? Please. The universe was around well before we showed up, and it'll be here long after we die out or evolve into something else. Whatever the case, observing something, whether it's a cat in a box or 'dark matter' doesn't physically change something. An object might change due to the circumstances surrounding the observation, such as being exposed to heat or light, but inanimate objects and mere matter don't change simply because they can be sensed in some sense.
What also irks me is the author's claim that quantum theory is the "most successful theory we have." Wha? By whose measure? In the very same article is a link to the Garret Lisi, the "surfer dude" physicist who has supposedly given us a "theory of everything"--the "Holy Grail" of physics. But M-theory, which combined five super-string theories (all supposedly the theories of everything), was supposed to be the "Holy Grail" of physics. Not only does the multitude of "Holy Grail" theories tend to undercut the author's position, but none of these theories work unless you make shit up. Case in point; Lisi's "exceptional theory of everything" only works if you include 20 "theoretical" (read not real) particles. M-theory falls on its ass because it fails to predict anything empirical (read real). In my unscientific lay opinion, this reliance on the unreal makes these theories less than successful.
The irony in all this is that science embraces the "unreal" when it's convenient, leading to absurd notions like this, yet it mocks religion when it does the same thing. Thing is, a notion like a supernatural (not explainable by science) entity makes way more sense in explaining the origins of the universe and life than anything science has come up with. The universe has a certain order and predictability that seems rather improbable if you accept that everything we know of came from the explosion of a primeval atom. After all, where did the atom come from and why would you expect order out of what was ostensibly a chaotic event? Order is the product of intent. Life also has a certain order and predictability that is very improbable if you accept that all life, from a bacterium to a human, including every plant and animal in between, originated from RNA (the current fashionable theory). So, we're to believe that life on Earth originated from RNA, which doesn't exist naturally in the absence of life? That's quite a chicken-egg paradox ya got there, Dr. Bunson Honeydew.
I like science. I like that it offers answers to fundamental questions, and when applied through engineering, makes really cool stuff. What I don't like is when science comes up with grandiose theories that rely on 2 + 2 = 5 math or makes up theories that are wholly umprovable... or makes whack claims, as is the case here.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Fall Color
Who said there was no fall color this year? Oh yeah, KSDK's Cindy Pressler. Something about it being too dry. And yet a few weeks after she proclaimed the end of fall before it began--BOOM--fall color! Brilliant color! As brilliant as any I've seen here. In fact, while most of the trees have already peaked, this one is, by far, the most brilliant I've ever seen.
My camera phone doesn't do it justice, but this tree popped out from behind the others as if it were on fire. Just... wow.
My camera phone doesn't do it justice, but this tree popped out from behind the others as if it were on fire. Just... wow.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Disturbed...
...and infuriated. Maybe it's the geographic proximity, or the similarity in age and name, or because I've seen my daughter hurt. I don't know. All I do know is that I feel for this family. Sympathy has an odd way of sneaking up on you, especially for someone like me, who tends to maintain emotional detachment from all but my family and friends. But then, so does anger.
There are two sides to every story, and in some sense, I could make an argument for either side. That's the danger of becoming a lawyer. You find yourself willing to consider positions you find repugnant simply for the sake of argument. There are limits, though, and this is one of them. "But when adults are involved and continue to screw with a 13-year- old, with or without mental problems, it is absolutely vile." I can't argue with that.
Mom: MySpace Hoax Led to Daughter's Suicide
[Edit]
I agree with Professor Turley, although in some way it was better not knowing. Now that the real identity of "Josh Evans" is known, the net is lashing out with its own brand of frontier justice. I admit that some part of me thinks "well, it sucks to be them," and that they deserve whatever grief they've brought upon themselves. But another part of me recognizes that there's another 14 year-old girl who is hating life now because of what her mom did. Maybe Lori Drew's daughter was complicit in the scheme, but lashing out at her strikes me as another line crossed.
The problem with frontier justice, in whatever form, is that it lacks the objectivity and dispassion, which are key ingredients to American jurisprudence. Of course subjectivity plays a part in deliberation and jurors and jurists may be outraged by the crimes of the accused, but the legal system works because of its rules that are carefully designed to obtain a fair outcome. There are no such rules to regulate mob mentality; consequently, the result is vengeance, not justice.
There are no criminal penalties for what Lori Drew did, and I can't even envision how a workable criminal statute could be drafted to address something like this. You can't outlaw meanness or mean words. But, I hope the Meiers file a civil action. It obviously won't bring their daughter back, but if successful, it would set a legal precedent that establishes a much-needed line that shouldn't be crossed.
There are two sides to every story, and in some sense, I could make an argument for either side. That's the danger of becoming a lawyer. You find yourself willing to consider positions you find repugnant simply for the sake of argument. There are limits, though, and this is one of them. "But when adults are involved and continue to screw with a 13-year- old, with or without mental problems, it is absolutely vile." I can't argue with that.
Mom: MySpace Hoax Led to Daughter's Suicide
[Edit]
I agree with Professor Turley, although in some way it was better not knowing. Now that the real identity of "Josh Evans" is known, the net is lashing out with its own brand of frontier justice. I admit that some part of me thinks "well, it sucks to be them," and that they deserve whatever grief they've brought upon themselves. But another part of me recognizes that there's another 14 year-old girl who is hating life now because of what her mom did. Maybe Lori Drew's daughter was complicit in the scheme, but lashing out at her strikes me as another line crossed.
The problem with frontier justice, in whatever form, is that it lacks the objectivity and dispassion, which are key ingredients to American jurisprudence. Of course subjectivity plays a part in deliberation and jurors and jurists may be outraged by the crimes of the accused, but the legal system works because of its rules that are carefully designed to obtain a fair outcome. There are no such rules to regulate mob mentality; consequently, the result is vengeance, not justice.
There are no criminal penalties for what Lori Drew did, and I can't even envision how a workable criminal statute could be drafted to address something like this. You can't outlaw meanness or mean words. But, I hope the Meiers file a civil action. It obviously won't bring their daughter back, but if successful, it would set a legal precedent that establishes a much-needed line that shouldn't be crossed.
There's a party in my tummy!
I'm a bit of a Rain Man when it comes to catch phrases. Something will stick in my consciousness and I'll go around repeating it. For weeks. Incessantly. My latest is "because you're soft. Like pudding." Of course, I watched Office Space afterwards and Bill Lumbergh crept in. Aahh, now, are you going to go ahead and have those TPS reports for us this afternoon? Ah. Yeah, I’m gonna be the one who breaks you. You know why? Because you're soft. Like pudding.
So it's no surprise my kids do the same thing. Hopefully they'll stop parroting Yo! Gabba Gabba before it becomes socially crippling.
So it's no surprise my kids do the same thing. Hopefully they'll stop parroting Yo! Gabba Gabba before it becomes socially crippling.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Captain's [B]log, Director's Cut...
...with never before seen stuff! Buy it now on DVD!
Ok, maybe not. I just thought I would point out a few new things I've added. First, a link to my lovely wife's blog, JediMom. Lisa's professional life now seems to center on all things social on the internet. Whether it's digg, del.icio.us, MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn, or Yelp (to name a few), she has her finger on the pulse of it. As you can see, her blog has a point--a purpose--whereas mine doesn't (not like I had to point that out).
One of the social networking sites that I haven't scratched my head at is Yelp. I see the value of consumer opinion, particularly if it's the opinion of friends. Lisa is my only "friend" on Yelp, and I've written all of one review (reiterating my love for Whataburger), so it's not all that "social" for me. But I thought the Yelp applet was kinda nifty, so check back for thoughtful commentary about the places where I stuff my pie-hole.
Another new link of interest is The Simmons Family News, where Rob (law school and golfing buddy) and his wife Kristina share their view on life as proud new parents of their adopted daughter, Evelyn. Credit the high production value to Kristina, as Rob has demonstrated difficulty in simply turning on and off a computer.
The last new link of interest is to Neo-Neocon. I don't recall how I stumbled across this site, but I was intrigued by her story of transformation from liberal to conservative--a real neocon (a term regularly misapplied these days). What made her story even more intriguing is that she was a New England liberal and is a psychotherapist to boot. Ya don't see that every day. Anyway, I forwarded the link to Kelley in the hope of broadening her horizons, but thought I would share it with everyone else. She's an incredibly prolific writer, but well worth the time to read. It also cracks me up to think that behind that apple, she's really Lilith Sternin.
More posts soon. I'm getting back in the saddle and am currently fired up about IQ tests. More on that later.
Ok, maybe not. I just thought I would point out a few new things I've added. First, a link to my lovely wife's blog, JediMom. Lisa's professional life now seems to center on all things social on the internet. Whether it's digg, del.icio.us, MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn, or Yelp (to name a few), she has her finger on the pulse of it. As you can see, her blog has a point--a purpose--whereas mine doesn't (not like I had to point that out).
One of the social networking sites that I haven't scratched my head at is Yelp. I see the value of consumer opinion, particularly if it's the opinion of friends. Lisa is my only "friend" on Yelp, and I've written all of one review (reiterating my love for Whataburger), so it's not all that "social" for me. But I thought the Yelp applet was kinda nifty, so check back for thoughtful commentary about the places where I stuff my pie-hole.
Another new link of interest is The Simmons Family News, where Rob (law school and golfing buddy) and his wife Kristina share their view on life as proud new parents of their adopted daughter, Evelyn. Credit the high production value to Kristina, as Rob has demonstrated difficulty in simply turning on and off a computer.
The last new link of interest is to Neo-Neocon. I don't recall how I stumbled across this site, but I was intrigued by her story of transformation from liberal to conservative--a real neocon (a term regularly misapplied these days). What made her story even more intriguing is that she was a New England liberal and is a psychotherapist to boot. Ya don't see that every day. Anyway, I forwarded the link to Kelley in the hope of broadening her horizons, but thought I would share it with everyone else. She's an incredibly prolific writer, but well worth the time to read. It also cracks me up to think that behind that apple, she's really Lilith Sternin.
More posts soon. I'm getting back in the saddle and am currently fired up about IQ tests. More on that later.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Trick or Treat...
...thank you, may the force be with you. That was Obi-Wan... err, Anakin... err, Bryan's mantra for the evening. He kept changing his story as to who he was, but then, some people mistook him for a ninja. A ninja?! C'mon! Lightsaber, people, not a sword--lightsaber.
Of course, the pumpkin is carved according to the year's theme. In this case, I couldn't make Meagan's "gypsy" thing work, so I went with what I knew.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Catching Up
I bet y'all thought I gave up on this whole blog thing. After all, one post a month does not a blog make. Chalk it up to my general sense of disconnectedness, or disconnectivity, or whatever. You know what I mean.
So, since I last wrote, I've completed another orbit around the sun. My 41st. Turning 41 isn't the milestone that 40 is. In my case, it was a fairly low-key day. Slept in, enjoyed breakfast in bed, played some golf with Rob, went to dinner at J.Buck's with the family... it was nice. :) But no matter how I do the math, I'm left with the inescapable conclusion that I'm on the downhill, that my days are numbered. I know, I know--our days are numbered from our very first breath, but it takes the first 40 years to realize just how short the last 40 can be. Or at least it did for me.
With this realization more at the forefront of my consciousness, I'm feeling behind. Personally, professionally, financially, spiritually, you name it... I'm feeling like I'm not where I should be for someone of my age. I need to catch up. Yet turning 41 and starting on the downhill has left me with another inescapable conclusion that I need to slow down and make each of my numbered days count more. But how do you do that? How do you get more from your time, more from your relationships, more from your life? I don't think it involves skydiving, Rocky Mountain climbing or 2.7 seconds on a bull named Blue Manchu.
So, since I last wrote, I've completed another orbit around the sun. My 41st. Turning 41 isn't the milestone that 40 is. In my case, it was a fairly low-key day. Slept in, enjoyed breakfast in bed, played some golf with Rob, went to dinner at J.Buck's with the family... it was nice. :) But no matter how I do the math, I'm left with the inescapable conclusion that I'm on the downhill, that my days are numbered. I know, I know--our days are numbered from our very first breath, but it takes the first 40 years to realize just how short the last 40 can be. Or at least it did for me.
With this realization more at the forefront of my consciousness, I'm feeling behind. Personally, professionally, financially, spiritually, you name it... I'm feeling like I'm not where I should be for someone of my age. I need to catch up. Yet turning 41 and starting on the downhill has left me with another inescapable conclusion that I need to slow down and make each of my numbered days count more. But how do you do that? How do you get more from your time, more from your relationships, more from your life? I don't think it involves skydiving, Rocky Mountain climbing or 2.7 seconds on a bull named Blue Manchu.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Doh!
B-52 mistakenly flies with nukes aboard
Can you say "career limiting maneuver"?
Update: Doh! x 70!
Some blithering idiots claim that the move of the nukes was a a signal to Iran. Some tinfoil aficionados have gone so far as to theorize that the discrepancy in the number of weapons reportedly moved--5 versus 6--was an inadvertent slip of what was to be a false flag op in which the missing nuke was supposed to be detonated by "terrorists," but it's really Booooosh!!!11!eleventy1one1! I am so losing patience with the Bush haters, conspiracy nuts, anti-war types and the whacked out Left.
Can you say "career limiting maneuver"?
Update: Doh! x 70!
Some blithering idiots claim that the move of the nukes was a a signal to Iran. Some tinfoil aficionados have gone so far as to theorize that the discrepancy in the number of weapons reportedly moved--5 versus 6--was an inadvertent slip of what was to be a false flag op in which the missing nuke was supposed to be detonated by "terrorists," but it's really Booooosh!!!11!eleventy1one1! I am so losing patience with the Bush haters, conspiracy nuts, anti-war types and the whacked out Left.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Check Thumbs Up Light - Illuminated
Three-quarters of the clan made an impromptu visit to the St. Louis County Fair & Air Show (while Meg played nature girl with her friend for three days of camping). It was a clear, cloudless Sunday afternoon, maybe twenty degrees too warm, so it was a relatively brief trip. Still we stayed long enough to sample fair delicacies like meat-on-a-stick and catch a few planes making the sound of freedom. Bryan came prepared.
The F-15, being a home-grown bird in these parts, led the show. I really need to get a telephoto lense to do the subject justice, but I thought Lisa's effort in capturing the Red Baron Pizza PT-17s was quite artful.
We made it a point to check out the statics as we headed out. No B-52s, but Bryan got to see what daddy learned basic airmanship in, namely the T-37 "Tweet." The recruiters had a mini F-16 for the kids to play on. Bry signaled he was good to go.
On the way home, Bryan made known his intention to become a "Blue Angels airplane pilot guy." Check Dad's Thumbs Up Light - Illuminated.
Friday, August 10, 2007
"But what if we get an eight? God help us all."
Ok, at the risk of this blog becoming nothing more than a compilation of internet videos, I present to you "Minesweeper: THE MOVIE!"
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Hey look! New toys...
I was perusing the blog of Webs, a former WarBirds squaddie and known Diplomacy cheat, when after scrolling for what seemed like days, I came upon this nifty little widget that played music. Apparently it was music that Webs likes, and I thought "huh, cool." So I followed the link and discovered the joy that is last.fm.
This is so much better than Apple's goofy iMix thingie. Why? Thanks for asking. First, it works, whereas it took multiple emails to Apple's tech support to finally get the iMix to show up. Second, it's not just a marketing ploy to sucker people into an online store. Yes, they both play 30-second snippets, and they both give you the opportunity to buy the song or album, but if you click on the big glowing button on the widget, it actually plays all the songs in the playlist in their entirety. You can open the widget in a new window, allowing for uninterrupted listening pleasure. And just for Scott, I didn't configure it to autostart, though that's a neat feature if you wanted to give your blog some ambient music beyond the dreaded MIDI.
So, consider this "Mood Music, Part 2," which represents 4.9% of my electronic music collection. Enjoy!
This is so much better than Apple's goofy iMix thingie. Why? Thanks for asking. First, it works, whereas it took multiple emails to Apple's tech support to finally get the iMix to show up. Second, it's not just a marketing ploy to sucker people into an online store. Yes, they both play 30-second snippets, and they both give you the opportunity to buy the song or album, but if you click on the big glowing button on the widget, it actually plays all the songs in the playlist in their entirety. You can open the widget in a new window, allowing for uninterrupted listening pleasure. And just for Scott, I didn't configure it to autostart, though that's a neat feature if you wanted to give your blog some ambient music beyond the dreaded MIDI.
So, consider this "Mood Music, Part 2," which represents 4.9% of my electronic music collection. Enjoy!
Monday, August 6, 2007
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Summer Vacation
Cynical as it may be, one could argue that vacation is that time in which families get together for forced fun just so they can appreciate the time they spend apart from one another. Still, this vacation went pretty well and ended with me contracting a serious case of homesickness (and Montezuma's Revenge, but we won't go there).
Day 1Bryan: Are we there yet?
Dad: No.
Bryan: Then can we go home?
Dad: No.
Day 1 found the family on the road in our Honda-built Conestoga, our Wagonqueen Family Truckster, careening at 95mph over the rolling hills of Missouri, through the hundred or so piss ant towns (aka speed traps) of Oklahoma, and across the wide open plains of Texas in our quest to make Dallas before nightfall. Having accomplished that mission, nightfall on Day 1 brought about the search for "shelf-stable" soy milk--something Bryan requires now moreso out of habit than dietary necessity. After visiting numerous grocery stores, some of which were detestable in odor, I finally gave up and fed Bry's growing Starbocks addiction with a kid's soy hot chocolate, hold the whip. Mini bars--don't rent a room without one.
Day 2Bryan: Hey Grandpa, do you like sausage?
Grandpa: Why, yes, yes I do like sausage.
Bryan: Hey Grandpa, are you having a good day?
Grandpa: Why, yes, yes I am having a good day.
(isn't the stream of consciousness of a four year-old grand?)
Day 2 was spent mostly driving around Dallas and at one of its many fine malls taking in a movie and shopping. You do a lot of driving in Dallas. It's unavoidable; the DFW Metroplex sprawls across four counties. This sprawl is creeping farther and farther north, and what used to be new and upscale is now tired and worn. This was readily apparent when we drove into town on Day 1. My hometown of Plano, once an All-America City and ranked 11th in 2006 by Money magazine as the best place to live in the US, looked a little less shiny, a little less new than I remember it (hey, O'Fallon was ranked 39th--cool). The hip, happenin' places are Frisco, Allen and McKinney. Still, Plano has a certain charm, due in part to some creative zoning. It's not everywhere that you see a working cattle ranch across the street from a Domino's Pizza, or an upscale subdivision, or say next door to the corporate headquarters of EDS. If you're ever in Plano and find yourself heading west on Legacy Drive just off Preston Road, look left and take a look at these guys:
There's buffalo in the herd, too, but they were off doing their own thing. You can see the top of the EDS building in this shot.
But what I get a kick out of is seeing cattle, horses and alpacas across the street from a Domino's. The Haggard family is one of a few founding families of Plano and still owns and works 2400 acres smack dab in the middle of suburbia.
Day 3
Meg: What the?!
Dad: Hmmm?
Meg: Do you see anything in my hair?
Dad: Guano. Bird guano.
Day 3 found us in San Antonio. I'm not sure why we chose to drive south. In July. In Texas. It's pure masochism, I tell ya, yet it was unseasonably cool (relatively speaking). It rained like the dickens (like a cow pissin' on a flat rock, as they say in Kansas) on the way down. The rain drove all manner of critter inside, including the five crickets that took up residence by the soda fountain at the Whataburger in Temple (mmmmm... mustard, all the way is like talkin' dirty to a Whataburger devotee). This freaked Meg and Lisa out, so we were forced to take refuge in the van while we enjoyed our blessed midday victuals. For Meg, this would not be the only unpleasantry of the day.
We got into San Antonio in the evening and decided to wander the riverwalk. San Antonio is one of those cities of dramatic contrasts. At street level you have filth and crime; on the riverwalk, it's remarkably clean and well-patrolled. We were greeted by this lovely view from our hotel.
We walked for a little over a mile and a half before the kids started to whine. After dinner, we decided to forgo the forced march and indulge in a tour by water taxi. Along the way, Meagan was the unfortunate target of a bird apparently suffering from irritable bowel syndrome. Of course I offered to buy her a cap earlier, but nooooo. Here are the kids post-attack, Meg now wearing my cap (she looks an awful lot like my mom in this photo).
Day 4/5
Days 4 & 5 were spent at SeaWorld. SeaWorld San Antonio is, well, quaint when compared to SeaWorld San Diego. It's like Auggie Busch ran out of money when doing the San Antonio park and settled on the bare bones. For example, I spent the better part of Day 4 trying to convince Meg that the Journey to Atlantis ride was the same as the one she rode in San Diego, minus the staging, music, narration and building that made the San Diego ride cool. Still, as a means of getting wet and experiencing a few momentary negative Gs, it served its purpose. The wave pool and water slides provided the most entertainment, though I had a few "Monk" moments and was forced to suppress the revulsion that comes with the realization that many of my fellow swimmers don't necessarily adhere to a reasonable standard of hygiene, as evident by people coming out of the restrooms in their bare feet. Public restrooms. Bare feet. [shudder]
Day 6
We left San Antonio sunburned and eager to get back to Big D, though this meant spending time with my mother-in-law. As is customary, my mother-in-law and I don't get along all that well, but have come to a tenuous détente over the years. This détente was stressed when she decided we needed to meet her for dinner, but was incredibly cryptic as to where we were supposed to do so. All she could tell us was that it was some Mexican restaurant in Plano, the name and location of which escaped her. After a lengthy phone interrogation, I was able to extract from her a useful landmark, and lo and behold, we ended up at Aparicio's. I once knew an Oscar Aparicio in school. We played soccer together. He was good. I was not. Could it be, I wondered? Sure enough, the restaurant is owned by Oscar's family, and he was managing that night. Nice little reunion.
Day 7
Day 7 was very much like Day 2, only it involved my mother-in-law, who has an incredibly short attention span. Suffice it to say, a movie was out of the question and shopping involved dashing from store to store. After m-i-l left, we headed over to Ikea. Now, we have a fully furnished home and really don't need inexpensive Scandinavian furniture, but Ikea is something of an experience. Lisa said it's best not to design a website like an Ikea store, and now having been trapped in the maze that is an Ikea store, I can understand why. Still, if some great catastrophe were to befall us, being trapped in an Ikea wouldn't be so bad, though my first choice would be Costco. Or, if the whole law school thing doesn't work out, I could see spending my resulting vagrancy whiling away the days at an Ikea. They sell incredibly cheap food, and as long as I maintain a reasonable standard of hygiene, I don't think anyone would know or care that I took up temporary residence in one of the displays. Be prepared--that's what I always say.
Day 8
Everyone: I gotta go potty.
It took us the better part of 13 hours to make it home, mostly because we drank the water. Never drink the water. Never. That, and avoid the Wal-Mart in Muskogee, Oklahoma at all costs. I orbited the parking lot losing IQ points by the second while Lisa and the kids ran in to pick up a few diversions for the remainder of the trip. Thirty minutes later, I was reduced to a drooling imbecile capable of only making left-hand turns... hey, wait, that kinda sounds like NASCA... uh, nevermind.
So that's what I did on my summer vacation. The end.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Observations from Bryan...
...on today's drive to preschool.
"There are Starbocks in this world."
"There are ballcanoes in Texas."
"Our dog runs super fast. That's why she's old."
"The construction guys forget when they bury the cars."
This last one makes me think I should survey the yard for fresh shallow graves filled with Hot Wheels cars. The lawn guys are coming this afternoon and I would rather not play the home version of Will It Blend?
"There are Starbocks in this world."
"There are ballcanoes in Texas."
"Our dog runs super fast. That's why she's old."
"The construction guys forget when they bury the cars."
This last one makes me think I should survey the yard for fresh shallow graves filled with Hot Wheels cars. The lawn guys are coming this afternoon and I would rather not play the home version of Will It Blend?
Saturday, July 14, 2007
What a great day
It started with the abrupt, ear-shattering wailing of the smoke detector at 6 A.M.. 120 decibels. 6 A.M.. I'm up, I'm up! I'm not sure why it decided to blurt out like that... maybe it was just craving attention, but after three or four beep-beep-beeps, it stopped. Naturally, it freaked Bry out, so I spent the next three hours being kicked in the kidneys by a fidgety four year-old (which is still infinitely preferable to where I could be kicked). But it got better.
It was a glorious day and I got to play my favorite game--golf. I couldn't putt worth crap, but I came within four feet of a hole-in-one (I, of course, two-putted to blow the easy birdie). We then went to one of my favorite hamburger joints (Red Robin), where I had my favorite hamburger (the Royal Red Robin--bacon and eggs on a cheeseburger, because breakfast is the most important meal of the day) and my favorite beer (Blue Moon--I don't know what coriander is, but it and orange peel belong in beer). I then came home and grilled my favorite steaks (Delmonico) in my favorite marinade (chipotle pepper) and had more of my favorite beer. Sated on red meat and coriander, I'm feeling quite favorably. I'm sure tomorrow will be another story.
So, I can't believe no one had anything to say about my taste in quasi-classical music or B-52 porn. Ok, if it's more deep-fried twitchy fish you want...
[Note: I'm leaving this topic front and center because it's driving Scott nuts that I wrote about what I ate on July 14th. Snirtle]
It was a glorious day and I got to play my favorite game--golf. I couldn't putt worth crap, but I came within four feet of a hole-in-one (I, of course, two-putted to blow the easy birdie). We then went to one of my favorite hamburger joints (Red Robin), where I had my favorite hamburger (the Royal Red Robin--bacon and eggs on a cheeseburger, because breakfast is the most important meal of the day) and my favorite beer (Blue Moon--I don't know what coriander is, but it and orange peel belong in beer). I then came home and grilled my favorite steaks (Delmonico) in my favorite marinade (chipotle pepper) and had more of my favorite beer. Sated on red meat and coriander, I'm feeling quite favorably. I'm sure tomorrow will be another story.
So, I can't believe no one had anything to say about my taste in quasi-classical music or B-52 porn. Ok, if it's more deep-fried twitchy fish you want...
[Note: I'm leaving this topic front and center because it's driving Scott nuts that I wrote about what I ate on July 14th. Snirtle]
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Yeah baby!
I came across a video of the F-22 and thought it was pretty damn impressive. Lots of "alpha loops" and "power loops" and whatnot. Of course, you had Joe Cool Fighter Jock narrating, hands on hips, feet shoulder width apart as he assumed the Fighter Pilot Stance ™, followed by lots of talking with his hands. But who cares about the F-22 when you can watch a B-52! Check this out...
This first video has some nice footage. I always thought AC/DC's Hells Bells was the quintessential B-52-goin'-to-war song, but I guess Thunderstruck will do in a pinch.
Then I found this...
Check out the footage from 2:10 to 2:58 (4:13 to 3:24 on time remaining). I can't say for certain because all gun camera footage tends to look alike, but it seems awfully familiar. I'm thinkin' the Utah Test and Training Range, 1994. If only the pilot had said "knock it off," then I'd know for sure that I was that MF (we nearly smacked a mountain). I rarely make it a point to go into any detail about what I did while flying B-52s because it tends to make one's eyes glaze over and induces a catatonic state, but it's nice to be able to show the final product of my effort. So, daddy, what did you do when you flew B-52s? I upset the bad men in pointy airplanes and broke their toys. ;)
This first video has some nice footage. I always thought AC/DC's Hells Bells was the quintessential B-52-goin'-to-war song, but I guess Thunderstruck will do in a pinch.
Then I found this...
Check out the footage from 2:10 to 2:58 (4:13 to 3:24 on time remaining). I can't say for certain because all gun camera footage tends to look alike, but it seems awfully familiar. I'm thinkin' the Utah Test and Training Range, 1994. If only the pilot had said "knock it off," then I'd know for sure that I was that MF (we nearly smacked a mountain). I rarely make it a point to go into any detail about what I did while flying B-52s because it tends to make one's eyes glaze over and induces a catatonic state, but it's nice to be able to show the final product of my effort. So, daddy, what did you do when you flew B-52s? I upset the bad men in pointy airplanes and broke their toys. ;)
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Mood Music, Part 1
In an effort to move the fish head post to "below the fold" (just for Scott, disturbed as he is), I thought I would ramble on about a few of my favorite songs. And, for your listening pleasure, feel free to right-click and save as on the various links. I won't tell if you won't.
A quick glance at my music library might suggest that I have fairly eclectic tastes. It's a library in which the Chemical Brothers happily coexist next to Peter Cetera and George Strait doesn't mind hangin' out with Fourplay. Intermingled among these fairly well-known artists are lesser known composers who have scored, in my opinion, some of the best orchestral arrangements for motion pictures, which one might call "modern American classics." Now, I don't know much about classical music, but I'm betting if Beethoven or Schubert were alive today, they would be writing music for the movies.
Of course, everyone has heard of John Williams. The guy's composed the music for just about every blockbuster known to man, but my favorite songs from John Williams come from the movie Saving Private Ryan. I think I'm a fairly stoic individual, but man, did that movie make me cry! It still chokes me up to think of that scene where Ryan is standing at the grave of Captain Miller, remembering the captain's last words of "earn this," then turning to his wife and asking "[t]ell me I've lived a good life. Tell me I'm a good man." As I recall, Williams' Hymn to the Fallen provided the background for that moment. Another haunting song from that movie is Omaha Beach, made more so by the sight of the carnage that was Normandy on D-Day.
A lesser known, but just as talented composer is Trevor Rabin. You wouldn't imagine a member of the rock group Yes would compose such great movie music. The Great Raid is another favorite movie of mine, mostly because James Franco did such an awesome job of portraying Captain Prince. The story itself still makes my blood boil. The tide had turned in the Pacific and the Japanese started executing Allied POWs rather than repatriating them as part of their surrender. The 6th Ranger Battalion was sent in to liberate the POWs located at Cabanatuan, and successfully rescued all but one. Most of Rabin's score for the movie was intended to evoke a mood, but his Closing Titles, which accompanied images of the actual raid, left a lump in my throat.
Rabin also penned the score for National Treasure. I'm not a big Nicholas Cage fan, but I loved this movie mostly because of the subject matter--the Declaration of Independence. The more you know about how the Declaration came into being, the less romantic it seems, but damn, what an audacious way to commit treason and tell the king to pound sand! I thought Rabin's Ben captured the drama of the story, silly as it was, while his Declaration of Independence captured, in my mind, the essence of what was one of the most dramatic periods in our country's history.
David Foster is one of those composers you've probably never heard of, but have definitely heard his music. In addition to writing and producing for the likes of Michael Jackson (eww!) and Peter Cetera, he's also penned the score to movies like St. Elmo's Fire and Stealing Home, though some of his best work can be heard on The Symphony Sessions. Lisa and I took one of our first vacations to Williamsburg, Virginia, and the songs from this CD are the soundtrack to those memories. Piano Concerto in G and The Ballet both make me think of the history of Williamsburg, walking into the Capitol and imagining the words of Patrick Henry and George Mason echoing in its chamber. Conscience evokes the memory of crushed stone crunching beneath our feet on that cool autumn day, while Time Passing is the memory of evening light streaming through the trees.
As the title suggests, this is part one of my tour through my music library. Hope you enjoy the tunes. :)
A quick glance at my music library might suggest that I have fairly eclectic tastes. It's a library in which the Chemical Brothers happily coexist next to Peter Cetera and George Strait doesn't mind hangin' out with Fourplay. Intermingled among these fairly well-known artists are lesser known composers who have scored, in my opinion, some of the best orchestral arrangements for motion pictures, which one might call "modern American classics." Now, I don't know much about classical music, but I'm betting if Beethoven or Schubert were alive today, they would be writing music for the movies.
Of course, everyone has heard of John Williams. The guy's composed the music for just about every blockbuster known to man, but my favorite songs from John Williams come from the movie Saving Private Ryan. I think I'm a fairly stoic individual, but man, did that movie make me cry! It still chokes me up to think of that scene where Ryan is standing at the grave of Captain Miller, remembering the captain's last words of "earn this," then turning to his wife and asking "[t]ell me I've lived a good life. Tell me I'm a good man." As I recall, Williams' Hymn to the Fallen provided the background for that moment. Another haunting song from that movie is Omaha Beach, made more so by the sight of the carnage that was Normandy on D-Day.
A lesser known, but just as talented composer is Trevor Rabin. You wouldn't imagine a member of the rock group Yes would compose such great movie music. The Great Raid is another favorite movie of mine, mostly because James Franco did such an awesome job of portraying Captain Prince. The story itself still makes my blood boil. The tide had turned in the Pacific and the Japanese started executing Allied POWs rather than repatriating them as part of their surrender. The 6th Ranger Battalion was sent in to liberate the POWs located at Cabanatuan, and successfully rescued all but one. Most of Rabin's score for the movie was intended to evoke a mood, but his Closing Titles, which accompanied images of the actual raid, left a lump in my throat.
Rabin also penned the score for National Treasure. I'm not a big Nicholas Cage fan, but I loved this movie mostly because of the subject matter--the Declaration of Independence. The more you know about how the Declaration came into being, the less romantic it seems, but damn, what an audacious way to commit treason and tell the king to pound sand! I thought Rabin's Ben captured the drama of the story, silly as it was, while his Declaration of Independence captured, in my mind, the essence of what was one of the most dramatic periods in our country's history.
David Foster is one of those composers you've probably never heard of, but have definitely heard his music. In addition to writing and producing for the likes of Michael Jackson (eww!) and Peter Cetera, he's also penned the score to movies like St. Elmo's Fire and Stealing Home, though some of his best work can be heard on The Symphony Sessions. Lisa and I took one of our first vacations to Williamsburg, Virginia, and the songs from this CD are the soundtrack to those memories. Piano Concerto in G and The Ballet both make me think of the history of Williamsburg, walking into the Capitol and imagining the words of Patrick Henry and George Mason echoing in its chamber. Conscience evokes the memory of crushed stone crunching beneath our feet on that cool autumn day, while Time Passing is the memory of evening light streaming through the trees.
As the title suggests, this is part one of my tour through my music library. Hope you enjoy the tunes. :)
Monday, July 9, 2007
Yum!
Something tells me General Tso's Chicken isn't really Chinese food. After all, how can the same culinary culture come up with such a delectable dish as General Tso's Chicken and still produce "yin yang fish"? Yes, friends, deep-fried twitching fish. Yum!
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Am I the only one thinking these immortal words?
Fish heads, fish heads
Roly poly fish heads
Fish heads, fish heads
Eat them up, yum!
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Am I the only one thinking these immortal words?
Fish heads, fish heads
Roly poly fish heads
Fish heads, fish heads
Eat them up, yum!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Happy Birthday!
231 years old and she doesn't look a day over 200.
The skies over our fair city were alight with firework barrages as one neighbor would respond to another neighbor's volley with a bigger, better blast. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder, and on two occasions, I was sent diving for cover with Bryan in my arms as instructions on the munitions, like "this side up," went unheeded by some of our firing party (Kelley!). And, all this happened in a city where the use of fireworks is illegal (but that doesn't stop the city from selling licenses to firework vendors). America--home of the free and the scofflaw. ;)
The skies over our fair city were alight with firework barrages as one neighbor would respond to another neighbor's volley with a bigger, better blast. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder, and on two occasions, I was sent diving for cover with Bryan in my arms as instructions on the munitions, like "this side up," went unheeded by some of our firing party (Kelley!). And, all this happened in a city where the use of fireworks is illegal (but that doesn't stop the city from selling licenses to firework vendors). America--home of the free and the scofflaw. ;)
Thursday, June 28, 2007
What were you thinking, Rob Bell?
First, a bit of background; I'm the resident heathen in a "Methodist" church (sorta kinda Methodist), and by extension, a Methodist "small group." They're too nice to call me heathen (seeker being the churchy word), but by "heathen," I mean I'm quite certain there's a God, though I'm pretty Jeffersonian in my Christianity. In other words, my beliefs about Jesus don't comport with conventional Christianity.
Anyway, we've been watching these Nooma videos in our small group get-togethers. Nooma, as we've learned, is the phonetic spelling of the Greek word pneuma, which means spirit or breath. These videos feature Rob Bell, the young, hip, charismatic pastor of Mars Hill Church. I like listening to Rob Bell. He's very conversational, very energetic, very cool. But, in each of these videos, I've had a "what the--?" moment... a moment in which what he's saying seems kind of incongruous with what he's doing. It's not that he's being a hypocrite. Hell, he probably doesn't have anything to do with the script. It's just there are moments when I've thought (with a chuckle) "what were you thinking, Rob Bell?"
The first video has Rob in his living room. Wherever Mars Hill is, it's cold and there's snow on the ground. I don't remember the exact message, but the gist of it was you spread the word of Jesus by the way you live and what you do, not what you say. As he's saying all this, there's this person--some of us think it's a portly teenage boy and some think it's a portly middle-aged woman--shoveling snow from a driveway. Rob occasionally glances out his window, coffee mug in hand, watching the portly person shovel snow. Eventually, the person finishes shoveling and then we realize it's not their driveway; evangelism through unsung good deeds. But then I thought "Hey! Where was Rob Bell during all this?" Drinking coffee in his living room, talking to us, the lazy schmuck! ;) Now, wouldn't it have been a more effective message if Rob is talking to us while he's putting on his coat, grabbing a shovel and helping the neighbor shovel snow? It's not unheard of, ya know. Jack (Kelley's hubby) has done this on a number of occasions. Maybe Jack should narrate these videos... now that would be a hoot. ;) But it begs the question: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?
I didn't get to see the next video until the Father's Day sermon, though we apparently showed it in small group (I must have been AWOL). It's really a very touching video which probably elicited a tear from more than one father in the congregation. Rob Bell is walking through the woods with a baby, his son, in one of those little backpacks. He tells of how it started to rain and how his son started to scream in terror and how he would do anything to get his son home safely. The gist of the message was that God, as our father, loves us as his children and would do anything to protect us. But here's the "what the--?" moment; he says he puts the baby's hood up (he's wearing a cotton hoodie, like that'll help), that the hood slips off and that he doesn't know this as his baby screams in terror, completely drenched, over the course of a mile that he has to walk through the woods, with rain pounding and lightning flashing. I'm thinkin' "take the kid out of the backpack and put him inside your raincoat, ya knucklehead." Or at least hold him in front of you so he can see your face. Eventually he does this, but you've got to ask: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?
The last video has Rob on the subway, and he's talking about breathing. We finally learn what that groovy little "nooooooma" that comes at the beginning of each video means. Spirit. Breath. The gist of this message is that the spirit of God is in our breath and gives us life. That the ground we walk on is holy (God made it) and that each of us is a holy, sanctified child of God (God made us). Knowing this, we should change how we treat our fellow human being. Be nice. There's probably also an environmental message buried in there, but I won't go there today. So, Rob gets on the subway train and there's this guy. A black guy. Nothing particularly notable about this guy other than his head is hanging like he's put in a 14-hour day somewhere. Rob sits down a seat or two away and the body language is perfect; he turns his body away and looks away from this guy, his fellow child of God. Hello! No nod, no smile, no how ya doin', how's it goin' how's it hangin'... nuthin'. Now is that any way to treat a fellow holy, sanctified child of God? It makes one wonder: what were you thinking, Rob Bell? Ok, the answer to this one is probably "please don't hurt me," but c'mon! Child of God. Be nice.
Anyway, we've been watching these Nooma videos in our small group get-togethers. Nooma, as we've learned, is the phonetic spelling of the Greek word pneuma, which means spirit or breath. These videos feature Rob Bell, the young, hip, charismatic pastor of Mars Hill Church. I like listening to Rob Bell. He's very conversational, very energetic, very cool. But, in each of these videos, I've had a "what the--?" moment... a moment in which what he's saying seems kind of incongruous with what he's doing. It's not that he's being a hypocrite. Hell, he probably doesn't have anything to do with the script. It's just there are moments when I've thought (with a chuckle) "what were you thinking, Rob Bell?"
The first video has Rob in his living room. Wherever Mars Hill is, it's cold and there's snow on the ground. I don't remember the exact message, but the gist of it was you spread the word of Jesus by the way you live and what you do, not what you say. As he's saying all this, there's this person--some of us think it's a portly teenage boy and some think it's a portly middle-aged woman--shoveling snow from a driveway. Rob occasionally glances out his window, coffee mug in hand, watching the portly person shovel snow. Eventually, the person finishes shoveling and then we realize it's not their driveway; evangelism through unsung good deeds. But then I thought "Hey! Where was Rob Bell during all this?" Drinking coffee in his living room, talking to us, the lazy schmuck! ;) Now, wouldn't it have been a more effective message if Rob is talking to us while he's putting on his coat, grabbing a shovel and helping the neighbor shovel snow? It's not unheard of, ya know. Jack (Kelley's hubby) has done this on a number of occasions. Maybe Jack should narrate these videos... now that would be a hoot. ;) But it begs the question: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?
I didn't get to see the next video until the Father's Day sermon, though we apparently showed it in small group (I must have been AWOL). It's really a very touching video which probably elicited a tear from more than one father in the congregation. Rob Bell is walking through the woods with a baby, his son, in one of those little backpacks. He tells of how it started to rain and how his son started to scream in terror and how he would do anything to get his son home safely. The gist of the message was that God, as our father, loves us as his children and would do anything to protect us. But here's the "what the--?" moment; he says he puts the baby's hood up (he's wearing a cotton hoodie, like that'll help), that the hood slips off and that he doesn't know this as his baby screams in terror, completely drenched, over the course of a mile that he has to walk through the woods, with rain pounding and lightning flashing. I'm thinkin' "take the kid out of the backpack and put him inside your raincoat, ya knucklehead." Or at least hold him in front of you so he can see your face. Eventually he does this, but you've got to ask: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?
The last video has Rob on the subway, and he's talking about breathing. We finally learn what that groovy little "nooooooma" that comes at the beginning of each video means. Spirit. Breath. The gist of this message is that the spirit of God is in our breath and gives us life. That the ground we walk on is holy (God made it) and that each of us is a holy, sanctified child of God (God made us). Knowing this, we should change how we treat our fellow human being. Be nice. There's probably also an environmental message buried in there, but I won't go there today. So, Rob gets on the subway train and there's this guy. A black guy. Nothing particularly notable about this guy other than his head is hanging like he's put in a 14-hour day somewhere. Rob sits down a seat or two away and the body language is perfect; he turns his body away and looks away from this guy, his fellow child of God. Hello! No nod, no smile, no how ya doin', how's it goin' how's it hangin'... nuthin'. Now is that any way to treat a fellow holy, sanctified child of God? It makes one wonder: what were you thinking, Rob Bell? Ok, the answer to this one is probably "please don't hurt me," but c'mon! Child of God. Be nice.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Father's Day
So, in case y'all haven't noticed, I haven't had much to say lately. It's due to the confluence of my temporary bout of consumption or lung cancer or somethin' and the daily dread I wallowed in while waiting for my grades to come back so I would know whether I was still in law school. Well, I'm only coughing up little bits o' lung now, and my grades came back much better than expected. [whew]
Actually, I've been thinkin' about Father's Day. Yes, it was last week, so I should be looking forward to something else, but this Father's Day was a particularly contemplative day for me. It occurred to me just how crappy a father I've been and how I need to do better. Case in point--shower time with Bryan. Bryan has always been squeamish about water. It was impossible to give him a bath for months because he was afraid of water getting in his eyes. Not soap. Water. We eventually worked through this, but not without many a frustrating evening of crying and gnashing of teeth--and Bryan wasn't happy either.
Anyway, Bryan has been taking showers now for a few months. He liked showers because he was now a big boy, and he liked playing with the shower head (I need to see about replacing the drywall on the ceiling). Note that I said he liked, because somewhere along the way, his fear of water inexplicably returned. He said the water was too fast, though it couldn't dribble out of the shower head any slower than it was. So he would thrash around, cry and carry on, much to my frustration. And, on Friday night, the Friday before Father's Day, my frustration took the form of yelling. I'm not much of a yeller, but I yelled... I yelled angrily at my little boy, who's just a little kid with little kid fears. And he cried. God, I felt so ashamed after that... as if I hit him. He's just a little kid.
On Sunday, Mike (Pastor Mike for those who don't know Mike) preached his Father's Day sermon. It was good. It made me think, and truthfully, it shamed me. So, when it came time to pray, I prayed to God that I could be a better father... a father that Bryan and Meagan deserve. And I vowed I would never yell at Bryan the way I yelled at him that Friday night (unless, of course, he wrecked my car).
So far I've yet to raise my voice to the kids, and things have been pretty harmonious. Today was a challenge because Bryan was pushing buttons, but I didn't yell, and I won't. Not any more, not if I can help it.
Actually, I've been thinkin' about Father's Day. Yes, it was last week, so I should be looking forward to something else, but this Father's Day was a particularly contemplative day for me. It occurred to me just how crappy a father I've been and how I need to do better. Case in point--shower time with Bryan. Bryan has always been squeamish about water. It was impossible to give him a bath for months because he was afraid of water getting in his eyes. Not soap. Water. We eventually worked through this, but not without many a frustrating evening of crying and gnashing of teeth--and Bryan wasn't happy either.
Anyway, Bryan has been taking showers now for a few months. He liked showers because he was now a big boy, and he liked playing with the shower head (I need to see about replacing the drywall on the ceiling). Note that I said he liked, because somewhere along the way, his fear of water inexplicably returned. He said the water was too fast, though it couldn't dribble out of the shower head any slower than it was. So he would thrash around, cry and carry on, much to my frustration. And, on Friday night, the Friday before Father's Day, my frustration took the form of yelling. I'm not much of a yeller, but I yelled... I yelled angrily at my little boy, who's just a little kid with little kid fears. And he cried. God, I felt so ashamed after that... as if I hit him. He's just a little kid.
On Sunday, Mike (Pastor Mike for those who don't know Mike) preached his Father's Day sermon. It was good. It made me think, and truthfully, it shamed me. So, when it came time to pray, I prayed to God that I could be a better father... a father that Bryan and Meagan deserve. And I vowed I would never yell at Bryan the way I yelled at him that Friday night (unless, of course, he wrecked my car).
So far I've yet to raise my voice to the kids, and things have been pretty harmonious. Today was a challenge because Bryan was pushing buttons, but I didn't yell, and I won't. Not any more, not if I can help it.
Wow!
Pardon me while I indulge in an aviation geek moment (unlike the previous post, which was just a geek moment). I've managed to do something like this in Warbirds in a AGM5, but that's a video game... err, multi-mega player online combat simulator... and this is real life. Truly impressive.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Saturday, June 9, 2007
My Jazz iMix
Not. Pardon the pointless post. Troubleshooting in progress. (Editor's note: hey, whadaya know! It works! I take back all that bad stuff I was sayin' about Apple... well, most of it.)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Congress Needs More Lawyers
Yeah, you heard me. More lawyers. Congress needs 'em. Or maybe Nancy Pelosi simply needs to consult one. You see, my friends, Speaker Pelosi wants to sue President Bush over the latest Iraq bill if he issues a signing statement. Sue.
Ok, I'm but a mere second-year law student, a veritable neophyte, if you will. That said, even I know that despite the litigiousness of our society, you can't just sue the President of the United States, or anyone else for that matter, without jumping through a few hoops. First and foremost, you need to have standing to litigate. Simply put, in order to show standing you need to show that you have personally suffered some actual or threatened injury (an invasion of a legally-protected interest) as the result of the supposedly illegal conduct of the defendant. One wonders what sort of injury Nancy Pelosi might suffer if George Bush tells her to pound sand in a signing statement.
Of course, a lawyer would also tell Speaker Pelosi that federal courts are "prudentially barred" from answering political questions. Federal courts stay out of political pissing contests, so unless there has been some violation of law, the courts don't go there. Thing is, not only has no law been broken, but the US Supreme Court said in Chevron U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837 (1984), that it defers to the Executive's interpretation of law if Congress has not directly spoken to the precise issue in question. That means if Bush wants to add a signing statement--something presidents have done ever since Monroe--he can damn well add a signing statement.
I know this is pretty esoteric and not on anyone's radar. I just find it amazing that a lawmaker doesn't know the law.
Ok, I'm but a mere second-year law student, a veritable neophyte, if you will. That said, even I know that despite the litigiousness of our society, you can't just sue the President of the United States, or anyone else for that matter, without jumping through a few hoops. First and foremost, you need to have standing to litigate. Simply put, in order to show standing you need to show that you have personally suffered some actual or threatened injury (an invasion of a legally-protected interest) as the result of the supposedly illegal conduct of the defendant. One wonders what sort of injury Nancy Pelosi might suffer if George Bush tells her to pound sand in a signing statement.
Of course, a lawyer would also tell Speaker Pelosi that federal courts are "prudentially barred" from answering political questions. Federal courts stay out of political pissing contests, so unless there has been some violation of law, the courts don't go there. Thing is, not only has no law been broken, but the US Supreme Court said in Chevron U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837 (1984), that it defers to the Executive's interpretation of law if Congress has not directly spoken to the precise issue in question. That means if Bush wants to add a signing statement--something presidents have done ever since Monroe--he can damn well add a signing statement.
I know this is pretty esoteric and not on anyone's radar. I just find it amazing that a lawmaker doesn't know the law.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
"France is a dog-hole...
...and it no more merits the tread of a man's foot."
- William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well
It should come as no surprise that I'm a Francophobe, which is not to say that I fear all things French. Rather, I simply loathe French attitudes and French collectivist culture. Take your average Frenchman; he manages to work only 35 hours a week and take off the entire month of August, yet apparently can't seem to spare a moment to check on grand-mère, who has since died of heat stroke. You would think 15,000 people dying of heat stroke in a month might make a bit of a stink (pun intended). Then again, who can tell. As Frances Trollope once wrote:
I remember being much amused last year when landing at Calais, at the answer made by an old traveler to a novice who was making his first voyage. 'What a dreadful smell,' said the uninitiated stranger, enveloping his nose in his pocket hankerchief. 'It is the smell of the continent, sir,' said the man of experience. And so it was.
Ok, all French-bashing aside, I've taken a slight interest in the French presidential race. On the left, as in the blithering "useful idiot" Left known as France's Socialist Party, you have Ségolène Royal (ironic name, huh?), while on the "right" (a term to be used loosely when describing a European politician) you have Gaullist Nicolas Sarkozy. What interested me about this race was the similarity of tactics employed by Royal to those employed by those on the Left here in the states; it's as if they've been issued the same playbook. Instead of addressing, you know... hard things, like issues, Royal and her supporters have focused on demonizing Sarkozy, running on a platform with a central plank of "tout sauf Sarkozy"--anyone but Sarkozy. Sound familiar? In fact, Royal's supporters have gone so far as to describe Sarkozy as a "French George W. Bush." I find that good for a chuckle because the cheese-eating surrender monkeys are wholly incapable of producing anything or anyone that is remotely Texan in character.
Maybe a politician is a politician regardless of nationality. Maybe the Euro Lefties and the American Lefties trade notes. I dunno, but the similarities are worth noting. Another page out of the common playbook is the threat of violence if the other side wins. I seem to recall Elizabeth Edwards saying the same thing just before the 2004 election. While such threats are largely ineffectual here in the US (particularly down south, where they're always eager to pop open a can of whup-ass at the mere whiff of provocation), I can see how this might be an effective tactic in a country known for its tendency to run up the white flag... or just run. Sarkozy has a 10-point lead, so it'll be interesting to see if things go to hell. Of course, as Frank Zappa said, "there is no hell. There is only France."
- William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well
It should come as no surprise that I'm a Francophobe, which is not to say that I fear all things French. Rather, I simply loathe French attitudes and French collectivist culture. Take your average Frenchman; he manages to work only 35 hours a week and take off the entire month of August, yet apparently can't seem to spare a moment to check on grand-mère, who has since died of heat stroke. You would think 15,000 people dying of heat stroke in a month might make a bit of a stink (pun intended). Then again, who can tell. As Frances Trollope once wrote:
I remember being much amused last year when landing at Calais, at the answer made by an old traveler to a novice who was making his first voyage. 'What a dreadful smell,' said the uninitiated stranger, enveloping his nose in his pocket hankerchief. 'It is the smell of the continent, sir,' said the man of experience. And so it was.
Ok, all French-bashing aside, I've taken a slight interest in the French presidential race. On the left, as in the blithering "useful idiot" Left known as France's Socialist Party, you have Ségolène Royal (ironic name, huh?), while on the "right" (a term to be used loosely when describing a European politician) you have Gaullist Nicolas Sarkozy. What interested me about this race was the similarity of tactics employed by Royal to those employed by those on the Left here in the states; it's as if they've been issued the same playbook. Instead of addressing, you know... hard things, like issues, Royal and her supporters have focused on demonizing Sarkozy, running on a platform with a central plank of "tout sauf Sarkozy"--anyone but Sarkozy. Sound familiar? In fact, Royal's supporters have gone so far as to describe Sarkozy as a "French George W. Bush." I find that good for a chuckle because the cheese-eating surrender monkeys are wholly incapable of producing anything or anyone that is remotely Texan in character.
Maybe a politician is a politician regardless of nationality. Maybe the Euro Lefties and the American Lefties trade notes. I dunno, but the similarities are worth noting. Another page out of the common playbook is the threat of violence if the other side wins. I seem to recall Elizabeth Edwards saying the same thing just before the 2004 election. While such threats are largely ineffectual here in the US (particularly down south, where they're always eager to pop open a can of whup-ass at the mere whiff of provocation), I can see how this might be an effective tactic in a country known for its tendency to run up the white flag... or just run. Sarkozy has a 10-point lead, so it'll be interesting to see if things go to hell. Of course, as Frank Zappa said, "there is no hell. There is only France."
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
"Sadly, there are no integers on this scale...
...so your gangly adolescent attempt to be clever has proved futile."
Dieter's words echoed in my head as I googled Captain's [B]log, only to find my attempt at a clever title was, in fact, trite and derivative. There are countless blogs and blog-like pages using this very title. I am emotionally obliterated.
In case you're interested, here's a sample of other captains' blogs.
http://www.enterprisemission.com/weblog/weblog.htm (notice the similarity of appearance?)
http://shavlik.typepad.com/
http://www.earthrace.net/index.php?section=41
http://www.captainsblogcayman.blogspot.com/ (another dark, foreboding black & blue blog, but pretty pictures!)
http://blogs.msdn.com/kdrage/default.aspx
http://ifcblog.ifctv.com/evan/2005/12/this_film_is_no_1.html
http://captnsaj.blogspot.com/
http://whatspocksawintheloo.blogspot.com/ (hmmmm...)
http://www.captainsblog.se/?language=en
http://bugscaptainsblog.blogspot.com/
http://www.parrotbayvillage.com/captainsblog/
http://www.englishbrain.blogspot.com/ (more black & blue.)
http://firefightersworkout.blogspot.com/
http://captaincapitalism.com/blog/blog.html (stop with the black & blue already!)
http://www.stu-wilson.blogspot.com/
http://captainsblog.tumblr.com/
http://tobyvstheworld.blogspot.com/
http://captainhumphreys.blogspot.com/
http://geekswithblogs.net/skibum/Default.aspx
http://jonashoffmann.blogspot.com/
http://captainslog.bloog.pl/?ticaid=63ac3 (pretty, but me no speakski Polish.)
http://nikolez.blogspot.com/ (damn, she ripped off my brackets AND it's black & blue!)
Well, you get the idea. Actually, I opted to go black & green because it tied in nicely with my mature geekiness, meaning I've been a geek since the days of the "green screen." That, and most of my time as a captain was spent staring at little black & green screens inside a big gray airplane. So, black, gray, green... it all makes sense now, huh?
Oh, I should note I only ranked an obscure 16th in Google when I searched for my wee lil' blog. It made me think vhy is it that the truly brilliant are doomed to a life of obscurity, surrounded by a sea of mediocrity, only to end up covered in sores in a pool of their own filth? Oh vell, the beat goes on.
Dieter's words echoed in my head as I googled Captain's [B]log, only to find my attempt at a clever title was, in fact, trite and derivative. There are countless blogs and blog-like pages using this very title. I am emotionally obliterated.
In case you're interested, here's a sample of other captains' blogs.
http://www.enterprisemission.com/weblog/weblog.htm (notice the similarity of appearance?)
http://shavlik.typepad.com/
http://www.earthrace.net/index.php?section=41
http://www.captainsblogcayman.blogspot.com/ (another dark, foreboding black & blue blog, but pretty pictures!)
http://blogs.msdn.com/kdrage/default.aspx
http://ifcblog.ifctv.com/evan/2005/12/this_film_is_no_1.html
http://captnsaj.blogspot.com/
http://whatspocksawintheloo.blogspot.com/ (hmmmm...)
http://www.captainsblog.se/?language=en
http://bugscaptainsblog.blogspot.com/
http://www.parrotbayvillage.com/captainsblog/
http://www.englishbrain.blogspot.com/ (more black & blue.)
http://firefightersworkout.blogspot.com/
http://captaincapitalism.com/blog/blog.html (stop with the black & blue already!)
http://www.stu-wilson.blogspot.com/
http://captainsblog.tumblr.com/
http://tobyvstheworld.blogspot.com/
http://captainhumphreys.blogspot.com/
http://geekswithblogs.net/skibum/Default.aspx
http://jonashoffmann.blogspot.com/
http://captainslog.bloog.pl/?ticaid=63ac3 (pretty, but me no speakski Polish.)
http://nikolez.blogspot.com/ (damn, she ripped off my brackets AND it's black & blue!)
Well, you get the idea. Actually, I opted to go black & green because it tied in nicely with my mature geekiness, meaning I've been a geek since the days of the "green screen." That, and most of my time as a captain was spent staring at little black & green screens inside a big gray airplane. So, black, gray, green... it all makes sense now, huh?
Oh, I should note I only ranked an obscure 16th in Google when I searched for my wee lil' blog. It made me think vhy is it that the truly brilliant are doomed to a life of obscurity, surrounded by a sea of mediocrity, only to end up covered in sores in a pool of their own filth? Oh vell, the beat goes on.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
What the &#$% were they thinking?
Ok, I'm not what you would call an "animal lover." I like dogs. Some dogs--mostly big goombah dogs like my dearly departed Arnold. And bears. I like bears, but then I kinda have bear-like characteristics and tendencies. A man-bear, if you will. Other than that, I'm pretty ambivalent about animals. That said, this struck me as sick and wrong.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Things that make you go "hmmmmm..."
I recently picked up 5 People Who Died During Sex - And 100 Other Terribly Tasteless Lists by Karl Shaw (ISBN 978-0-7679-2059-9, for those who care). Lemmee tell ya, fascinating stuff. So as a public service, I thought I'd periodically share brief passages of this highly topical and relevant book.
(Editors note: I make no claim as to veracity of this information. In fact, I found one blatant error, namely under the list No Nearer My God to Thee: Quotes from Twenty Dead Atheists, it quotes Thomas Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson wasn't an atheist--he was a deist who saw Jesus as a great prophet, though questioned his divinity. Jefferson wrote in a letter to Dr. Benjamin Rush, dated April 21, 1803, "[t]o the corruptions of Christianity I am indeed opposed; but not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself. I am a Christian in the only sense he wished any one to be; sincerely attached to his doctrines, in preference to all others; ascribing to himself every human excellence; & believing he never claimed any other.")
Speaking of religion, under the list of Ten Appalling Pontiffs is Pope Boniface VIII.
Emphasis added. Hmmmmm...
(Editors note: I make no claim as to veracity of this information. In fact, I found one blatant error, namely under the list No Nearer My God to Thee: Quotes from Twenty Dead Atheists, it quotes Thomas Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson wasn't an atheist--he was a deist who saw Jesus as a great prophet, though questioned his divinity. Jefferson wrote in a letter to Dr. Benjamin Rush, dated April 21, 1803, "[t]o the corruptions of Christianity I am indeed opposed; but not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself. I am a Christian in the only sense he wished any one to be; sincerely attached to his doctrines, in preference to all others; ascribing to himself every human excellence; & believing he never claimed any other.")
Speaking of religion, under the list of Ten Appalling Pontiffs is Pope Boniface VIII.
Boniface got rid of his predecessor, Pope Celestine V, by locking him up in
Fumone Castle and leaving him there to die of starvation. Boniface was
an atheist who had numerous gay lovers and was eventually tried for heresy,
rape, sodomy, and eating meat during Lent. Boniface didn't attend his
trial and escaped punishment, but went mad soon afterward and committed
suicide. Pope Clement V had Boniface's body exhumed and burned as a
heretic.
Emphasis added. Hmmmmm...
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Peep
Well, haven't I been just the slacker. Two weeks and not a peep from me.
I think of myself as being pretty well-informed. Well, maybe not on current pop culture, given Meg's roll of the eyes when she has to explain to me the current state of affairs on American Idol. But, you know, when it comes to news and world affairs, I can usually nod my head knowingly when someone casually mentions Boris Yeltsin's legacy or the Dow Jones Industrial Average. I attribute this knowing bobble head nod to my spending a good solid hour (or more, but don't tell my boss) every day pouring over the headlines through various portals, following the links to the wire services and media outlets. I would then spend another hour or more arguing points brought out in these articles with my fellow denizens on AGWOT. I felt the debate was essential to my understanding of events because as one poster's signature line quoted, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."
But no more. I've quietly retired from the Warbirds community (aka AGW). I know this has no significance to anyone, but it does to me if for no other reason than I was a part of that community for over eleven years. I was flying online with my "squad"--friends who I had never met in person, but knew much about--when my wife told me it was time to land and head to the hospital because we were about to be parents. Births, deaths, changes in life's circumstances... these were all things we shared. Over time, the game changed and we changed, so the squad disbanded. We took our conversations--the chatting we would do in between calling out bandits or telling your wingman to "check six"--to the alt.games.warbirds board, and then to the Off Topic page when we stopped talking about how overmodelled the guns were on the FW-190D or how "jet day" ruined it for us purists.
For many of us, the good-natured verbal sparring that took place on the Off Topic page took the place of our dogfights and furballs. It was interesting to see how one's debate style stacked up with his air combat tactics. Some guys (and it was almost exclusively a males-only community, with a handful of notable exceptions) were "boom n' zoomers"; they'd circle from high above looking for unsuspecting targets, diving down to make high-speed gun passes and then climbing out to repeat. Those that were effective at this in the "air" and on the board were able to obliterate their enemies in one pass; those that weren't were inconsequential annoyances. Then there were the "turn n' burners"; those that would maneuver to their target's "six" to get off a shot, often on the edge of the envelope with the stall horn blaring, full stick and rudder deflection, drifting in and out of blacking out... man, that was fun! Those that were effective would tenaciously wear their opponents down until they were out of airspeed or logic; those that weren't were, well, inconsequential annoyances.
But, just as the game changed, so has the Off Topic page. Naturally there was a fair amount of vitriol associated with the 2000 and 2004 elections; some people take their politics way too seriously. September 11th also changed the board. Warbirds was international from the start, which I think brought immense value because despite our increasingly "global" world, we don't communicate regularly with people from other countries... or at least that's not done here in suburban St. Louis. But on that day, I learned that there were Europeans--ostensibly our friends and allies whose countries we helped to liberate with our blood and treasure in two world wars and defend during one long cold one--who were not our friends... who indulged in a bit of schadenfreude at the death of some 3000 people, who said we "had it coming" and took delight at our comeuppance at the hands of the "downtrodden and persecuted freedom fighters." Uh huh. And then there was the PATRIOT Act, Afghanistan, Iraq, global warming, blah, blah, blah. In the end, or the end for me, the board became a home for those were against everything and for nothing. Probably the only thing most seemed to agree on, save a rational few, was that Booosh was the dephil!!1!!1111!1eleventy-one!!1 [sigh] Whatever.
So, what does that have to do with being well-informed? Well, I think we're falling victim to media with an agenda, or so many on AGWOT have. We're not examining the "news" with a critical eye, and we don't hold the purveyors of "news" accountable for what amounts to journalistic malpractice. Note that I'm quoting the term "news"; the word means a report of recent events. In the past, this meant a fact-based recitation of the five Ws with a H thrown in for good measure. Now it means the inclusion of "thought-provoking commentary" (aka bias), the outright fabrication of stories, documents and sources (Dan Rather interviews then Lt. Bush's flight commander, Captain Jamil Hussein) and the "enhancement" of photos (I guess someone didn't get that Photoshop Bible he asked for for Laylat al-Qadr). Apparently, "news" is now synonymous with infotainment and propaganda. Frankly, I've had enough of it, and enough of those who have slurped the Kool-aid, gone back for seconds and have the pink mustache to prove it.
The question that I've been wondering about, though, is whether one can be well-informed without having to wade through the muck that is modern journalism? For example, I've intentionally not read a single "news" account of the Virginia Tech incident, knowing full well that the press would sink to crass sensationalism as each outlet tried to outdo the other in telling the tale. Yet I know a South Korean student by the name of Cho killed thirty plus students and faculty and made some whack video "manifesto"--all this from headlines. Do I need to know any more than that? The one article I did read had this bit of timely wisdom (for me):
Whew! Sorry for the rambling, but there's nothing like a good diatribe.
I think of myself as being pretty well-informed. Well, maybe not on current pop culture, given Meg's roll of the eyes when she has to explain to me the current state of affairs on American Idol. But, you know, when it comes to news and world affairs, I can usually nod my head knowingly when someone casually mentions Boris Yeltsin's legacy or the Dow Jones Industrial Average. I attribute this knowing bobble head nod to my spending a good solid hour (or more, but don't tell my boss) every day pouring over the headlines through various portals, following the links to the wire services and media outlets. I would then spend another hour or more arguing points brought out in these articles with my fellow denizens on AGWOT. I felt the debate was essential to my understanding of events because as one poster's signature line quoted, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."
But no more. I've quietly retired from the Warbirds community (aka AGW). I know this has no significance to anyone, but it does to me if for no other reason than I was a part of that community for over eleven years. I was flying online with my "squad"--friends who I had never met in person, but knew much about--when my wife told me it was time to land and head to the hospital because we were about to be parents. Births, deaths, changes in life's circumstances... these were all things we shared. Over time, the game changed and we changed, so the squad disbanded. We took our conversations--the chatting we would do in between calling out bandits or telling your wingman to "check six"--to the alt.games.warbirds board, and then to the Off Topic page when we stopped talking about how overmodelled the guns were on the FW-190D or how "jet day" ruined it for us purists.
For many of us, the good-natured verbal sparring that took place on the Off Topic page took the place of our dogfights and furballs. It was interesting to see how one's debate style stacked up with his air combat tactics. Some guys (and it was almost exclusively a males-only community, with a handful of notable exceptions) were "boom n' zoomers"; they'd circle from high above looking for unsuspecting targets, diving down to make high-speed gun passes and then climbing out to repeat. Those that were effective at this in the "air" and on the board were able to obliterate their enemies in one pass; those that weren't were inconsequential annoyances. Then there were the "turn n' burners"; those that would maneuver to their target's "six" to get off a shot, often on the edge of the envelope with the stall horn blaring, full stick and rudder deflection, drifting in and out of blacking out... man, that was fun! Those that were effective would tenaciously wear their opponents down until they were out of airspeed or logic; those that weren't were, well, inconsequential annoyances.
But, just as the game changed, so has the Off Topic page. Naturally there was a fair amount of vitriol associated with the 2000 and 2004 elections; some people take their politics way too seriously. September 11th also changed the board. Warbirds was international from the start, which I think brought immense value because despite our increasingly "global" world, we don't communicate regularly with people from other countries... or at least that's not done here in suburban St. Louis. But on that day, I learned that there were Europeans--ostensibly our friends and allies whose countries we helped to liberate with our blood and treasure in two world wars and defend during one long cold one--who were not our friends... who indulged in a bit of schadenfreude at the death of some 3000 people, who said we "had it coming" and took delight at our comeuppance at the hands of the "downtrodden and persecuted freedom fighters." Uh huh. And then there was the PATRIOT Act, Afghanistan, Iraq, global warming, blah, blah, blah. In the end, or the end for me, the board became a home for those were against everything and for nothing. Probably the only thing most seemed to agree on, save a rational few, was that Booosh was the dephil!!1!!1111!1eleventy-one!!1 [sigh] Whatever.
So, what does that have to do with being well-informed? Well, I think we're falling victim to media with an agenda, or so many on AGWOT have. We're not examining the "news" with a critical eye, and we don't hold the purveyors of "news" accountable for what amounts to journalistic malpractice. Note that I'm quoting the term "news"; the word means a report of recent events. In the past, this meant a fact-based recitation of the five Ws with a H thrown in for good measure. Now it means the inclusion of "thought-provoking commentary" (aka bias), the outright fabrication of stories, documents and sources (Dan Rather interviews then Lt. Bush's flight commander, Captain Jamil Hussein) and the "enhancement" of photos (I guess someone didn't get that Photoshop Bible he asked for for Laylat al-Qadr). Apparently, "news" is now synonymous with infotainment and propaganda. Frankly, I've had enough of it, and enough of those who have slurped the Kool-aid, gone back for seconds and have the pink mustache to prove it.
The question that I've been wondering about, though, is whether one can be well-informed without having to wade through the muck that is modern journalism? For example, I've intentionally not read a single "news" account of the Virginia Tech incident, knowing full well that the press would sink to crass sensationalism as each outlet tried to outdo the other in telling the tale. Yet I know a South Korean student by the name of Cho killed thirty plus students and faculty and made some whack video "manifesto"--all this from headlines. Do I need to know any more than that? The one article I did read had this bit of timely wisdom (for me):
Actually I thought of Thoreau. He said he didn't have to read newspapers because if you're familiar with a principle you don't have to be familiar with its numerous applications. If you know lightning hits trees, you don't have to know every time a tree is struck by lightning.
Whew! Sorry for the rambling, but there's nothing like a good diatribe.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A Must-Know
I offer this INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT INFORMATION as a public service.
P.S. For the curious among us, Scott looks like Tom Merritt.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Uhmm...
...is it a bad thing that I have a "crush" on a character in a comic strip?
No, not the guy--Sam, the *hawt* redhead. Another favorite, just for my bud Rob, if he's reading:
For a witty read on his time in Iraq, check out his embed report. You can also check out the rest of the Day by Day strips by clicking on the panel that appears at the bottom of this finely crafted blog. Ok, commercial's over--we now return to a regularly scheduled programming.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Slacker
slack·er /ˈslækər/ - [slak-er]
–noun
–noun
- a person who evades his or her duty or work; shirker.
- a person who evades military service.
- an esp. educated young person who is antimaterialistic, purposeless, apathetic, and usually works in a dead-end job.
- Me, when it comes to yard work, various household chores, and maintaining a blog.
While #3 has a certain familiarity with respect to my life (except the "young" and "antimaterialistic" parts), I had to add #4 for no other reason than I'm becoming vaguely aware of my neighbors' disdain for my lawn maintenance skills. I can tell because in the mumbling mutterings of my neighbors, the word slacker rings out loud and clear (and no, I'm not imagining this). It's not that I'm incompetent in the use of a lawnmower or a weedeater. I actually pride myself in my ability to push a lawnmower in a relatively straight line, and I've got "skillz" when it comes to edging. But in modern suburbia, where a man is measured by the greenness of his lawn, I suffer the daily humiliation of knowing the little old lady across the street has a green, weedless lawn--and I don't.
Of course in polite suburban society, people don't openly criticize a man's inability to grow grass. It's just not done. But behind the words of neighborly encouragement that "it'll green up after it rains" lies the unspoken sentiment "it better... or else." I'm not really too worried about the "or else" part because I'm bigger than they are, and worse comes to worst, I can swing Bryan around like a 35-pound mace (he likes that sorta thing). Still, I want to be a good neighbor, and being a good neighbor means being in tune with the neighborhood ethos. Around here that means eager participation in a weekly regimen of aeration, liming, fertilizing, mowing, raking, bagging, edging, pruning, clipping, and ritual sacrifice to the god known as Scotts, who makes all things heavenly green with his gift of Turf Builder®. Problem is, I'm just too damn lazy. Too apathetic. Too much a slacker.
Oh, and I'd like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to my second reader, Scott (no, not the god). Scott has been my partner in crime and academic underachievement since the third grade. A better friend no man can find. Hi Scott!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
According to Paul...
...in 1 Corinthians 13, love is patient, kind, not jealous, and so on--this coming from the biblical purveyor of practical advice. The list, when read in its entirety, appears fairly comprehensive, but I think Paul intentionally glossed over his lack of experience in certain matters by nebulously hinting that love "endures all things." This is not to say the sentiment is untrue; on the contrary, love does endure all things. But, if Paul had been a parent, I'm sure he would have been more specific. For example, he might have said "love endures full-force projectile vomiting of curdled soy milk."
Yes friends, love does endure such unpleasantries when we speak of parental love, even if it brings about our own demise, because absent a toilet or bucket (Editor's note: you'll just have to imagine that eloquent phrase "better get a bucket. I'm going to throw up, " from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. Linky no worky. But, as I was saying...) ...no loving parent can hold an ill child at arm's length as if their little one was a leaking bag of garbage. No, the parental imperative to comfort requires that we hold them close and tell them it'll be ok, even if it means being coated from head to toe in partially-digested chicken nuggets.
According to our pediatrician, Bry's latest affliction has a viral "gotcha." Unlike most stomach bugs, which seem to pass in a mere 24 hours, this one pops up unexpectedly a day or two later just so you don't get cocky thinking you've beat it. Of course, I'm sharing in this experience, but my gastric training, honed by flying backwards in a windowless cockpit, has allowed me to control my vomitus urges. Fun.
Yes friends, love does endure such unpleasantries when we speak of parental love, even if it brings about our own demise, because absent a toilet or bucket (Editor's note: you'll just have to imagine that eloquent phrase "better get a bucket. I'm going to throw up, " from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. Linky no worky. But, as I was saying...) ...no loving parent can hold an ill child at arm's length as if their little one was a leaking bag of garbage. No, the parental imperative to comfort requires that we hold them close and tell them it'll be ok, even if it means being coated from head to toe in partially-digested chicken nuggets.
According to our pediatrician, Bry's latest affliction has a viral "gotcha." Unlike most stomach bugs, which seem to pass in a mere 24 hours, this one pops up unexpectedly a day or two later just so you don't get cocky thinking you've beat it. Of course, I'm sharing in this experience, but my gastric training, honed by flying backwards in a windowless cockpit, has allowed me to control my vomitus urges. Fun.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Rock Star
My son is a rock star. No, not a Superstar (Editor's note: think Molly Shannon. The copyright nazis struck)... a rock star.
Dropping him off at preschool is like The Beatles at Heathrow. Ok, I expect a certain adoration on the part of the teachers; he is, after all, a damn cute kid. But, what defies explanation is his classmates' compulsion to swarm the little guy the moment he sets foot in the room. Every day we pause as we get to the classroom door. He peers through the window, gauging the crowd's temperament. "You ready?" I ask. "Let's do it" he responds, as if he's about to step out of a limo into a horde of paparazzi and screaming fans. The door swings open, and with it comes the cry "Bryaaaaaaaaan!!!" On cue, ten 3 year-old boys stop what they're doing, their heads popping up like little prairie dogs out of their burrows, followed by a mad dash to lay hands on King Julian (damn, they struck again!) of Room 502. At what age does the concept of the "personal bubble" take shape?
Dropping him off at preschool is like The Beatles at Heathrow. Ok, I expect a certain adoration on the part of the teachers; he is, after all, a damn cute kid. But, what defies explanation is his classmates' compulsion to swarm the little guy the moment he sets foot in the room. Every day we pause as we get to the classroom door. He peers through the window, gauging the crowd's temperament. "You ready?" I ask. "Let's do it" he responds, as if he's about to step out of a limo into a horde of paparazzi and screaming fans. The door swings open, and with it comes the cry "Bryaaaaaaaaan!!!" On cue, ten 3 year-old boys stop what they're doing, their heads popping up like little prairie dogs out of their burrows, followed by a mad dash to lay hands on King Julian (damn, they struck again!) of Room 502. At what age does the concept of the "personal bubble" take shape?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Internet Luddite
It occurred to me as I futzed around with putting this blog together that I'm something of a "Luddite" when it comes to the whole internet thing. This is more than a little ironic to those who know me, given my enthusiastic embrace of all things tech. Yet as I browsed my IE favorites to find some links of interest to post here, it became readily apparent that I just don't do a helluva lot online. For example, I've never been on eBay. Ever. Of course I know what eBay is, but I must say I was momentarily tempted to take John Scherer of Video Professor up on his offer to try [his] product™ just so I could get his free CD on eBay. I mean, who wouldn't? You just put the CD in your computer and it plays just like a VCR! Now you're talkin'. But alas, he couldn't promise to make me a millionaire by selling baseball cards on eBay, so no deal.
Not only have I never been on eBay, I've never been on MySpace, though something tells me I'm not missing anything. Nor have I ever made a phone call using Skype, which despite my telecom background, seems like internet voodoo to me. Second Life is what I hope to experience after racking up high score on this life's quarter. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I can conceptualize "surfing" the net. Do people really ride a random wave from site to site? I don't get it.
My wife has asked the question "what the hell do you do on the damned computer?" more than once. Evidently not much, which doesn't seem to accurately account for the 8 to12 hours I might spend online in a given day. Ok, there's work, but that doesn't count. I mean after I log on in the morning and delete the 200 or so email messages that flooded my inbox overnight, I just sorta space out for an hour. Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch too; I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. By the way, I think it's no small coincidence that Ron Livingston, aka Peter Gibbons, is now my company's spokesperson... well, that's the word on the street. (Editor's note: [sniff] ah, yes, the unforgettable stench of the copyright nazis, said the aspiring intellectual property lawyer. Link broken forever.)
So if it's not work, then what? Well, I'd like to think of myself as well-informed, but am deeply suspicious of the MSM, so I get my infotainment fix from the Drudge Report. I know, I know... Drudge has his days when his site reads like the front page of the National Enquirer, but I like the diversity in content. If I'm feeling political, I wander to National Review Online; Jonah Goldberg is the George Will for my generation. I might even take a gander at a Bill O'Reilly clip over on Fox. But the single greatest waste of my time is a cesspool of a UBB known as alt.games.warbirds. [old man voice]Back in the day, I used to bring hell to those damn Naaatzeees [/old man voice] virtually, of course, in a MMO air combat sim known as WarBirds. But like most Americans, I have a short attention span when it comes to stuff like war, so now I merely engage in verbal dogfights, trading insults and the occasional word of practical advice with my virtual friends and enemies alike. While by no means the most prolific, I've logged 4591 verbal "sorties" since July 1999. Some of these were short "out n' backs," a word or two or maybe a smilie. Most, however, were fairly lengthy (no surprise given what you've read here), involving some sort of planning, gathering of intel and whatnot. Estimating an average of 30 minutes per post, I've logged just under 2300 hours--95 days--indulging in my favorite pastime of being an opinionated jerk. Maybe I should reconnect with my inner Amish and get back to life's basics.
Not only have I never been on eBay, I've never been on MySpace, though something tells me I'm not missing anything. Nor have I ever made a phone call using Skype, which despite my telecom background, seems like internet voodoo to me. Second Life is what I hope to experience after racking up high score on this life's quarter. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I can conceptualize "surfing" the net. Do people really ride a random wave from site to site? I don't get it.
My wife has asked the question "what the hell do you do on the damned computer?" more than once. Evidently not much, which doesn't seem to accurately account for the 8 to12 hours I might spend online in a given day. Ok, there's work, but that doesn't count. I mean after I log on in the morning and delete the 200 or so email messages that flooded my inbox overnight, I just sorta space out for an hour. Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch too; I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. By the way, I think it's no small coincidence that Ron Livingston, aka Peter Gibbons, is now my company's spokesperson... well, that's the word on the street. (Editor's note: [sniff] ah, yes, the unforgettable stench of the copyright nazis, said the aspiring intellectual property lawyer. Link broken forever.)
So if it's not work, then what? Well, I'd like to think of myself as well-informed, but am deeply suspicious of the MSM, so I get my infotainment fix from the Drudge Report. I know, I know... Drudge has his days when his site reads like the front page of the National Enquirer, but I like the diversity in content. If I'm feeling political, I wander to National Review Online; Jonah Goldberg is the George Will for my generation. I might even take a gander at a Bill O'Reilly clip over on Fox. But the single greatest waste of my time is a cesspool of a UBB known as alt.games.warbirds. [old man voice]
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